


A Bit of Indulgence

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pride Parade, fake boyfriends, john barrowman (cameo)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:03:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case leads John and Sherlock to fake being boyfriends and John runs into an old acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> This silliness started when I realized that I have never written a fake boyfriends piece and that I was going to miss Pride again this year. Thanks to the SHJW Writing Circle for the fun word war that had me starting this and especially to tiger in the flightdeck, type40consultingdetective, everythingelsegoesherethen, and shellysbees for their beta work. *hugs*

Of course he ran into someone he knew. Bad enough that he was here in the first place. 

“Watson!” the man John knew as Private Abbott called out, shouting to be heard above the music and the crowd. “Isn’t this great?”

“Abbott?” John looked him over. He looked much the same, olive skin just slightly paler from the lack of desert sunshine. A bit older, smile lines and crinkles marking his eyes now. And he had never dressed like _that_ in their service days. While they were camo print, his skin tight trousers and muscle shirt left little to the imagination, and it was clear he would still pass any fitness test thrown at him. John ran his fingers through his own, greying, hair a bit self consciously and stood taller, tightening his stomach. It didn’t help that these denims already felt too tight, though Sherlock had insisted they were perfect and he _had_ to wear them. 

“Just a civilian now. Call me George,” he said, taking a sip of lager from a rainbow striped, plastic souvenir cup. “Didn’t imagine seeing you here. Or anyone from our unit, really. God, I wish anyone had been out when we were in service. Wasn’t ready then. You, either?” 

John nodded. What else could he do? George smiled, continuing, ”Always liked the ladies well enough that it was easy to ignore. Till you meet that person and you just can’t deny it, eh? Well, that’s how it was for me, anyway, you know?” 

“I think I do, yeah,” John said gruffly, wishing he had purchased a drink. He could use one right about now. 

“This is Matt,” George said, gesturing to the muscular, shirtless bloke in leather chaps who was half wrapped around him. The white briefs he wore beneath them made a stunning contrast to his skin that gleamed like polished mahogany. 

John reached out to shake hands, saying, “John.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” Matt said with a smile.

Just then, Sherlock ran up behind him, whispering, “I think I found what I need.”

“Oi, good on you, mate,” Matt shouted. “Bloody model you got. He’s gorgeous.”

“He is, isn’t he,” John said, as though awed. He could say that here. Maybe he was supposed to. And sod the case, maybe that was the point. Maybe not the point Sherlock intended, just whatever forces govern the universe. God? Fate? Fortune cookies? Never quite sorted it, but life was far too amazing to be jotted down to coincidence.

“Oh, stop. You’re one to talk,“ Sherlock said, batting at Matt’s arm in a gesture that was so comically camp John barely contained a fit of giggles, covering it with a cough.

He cleared his throat, recovering himself enough to add, “This is Sherlock,” hoping he wasn’t actually blushing, even as he could feel the warmth rising to his cheeks.

“Hi,” Sherlock said brightly, waving. 

“Just another hour or so, I think,” Sherlock whispered and kissed him on the neck.  
John shivered. “Hey now, not here,” he said, pushing at Sherlock in a manner he hoped was playful. Really that felt alarmingly good and John wasn’t sure what he would do if Sherlock kept it up.

“Oh, come now, John. If I can’t do that here, where can I?” Sherlock said, honestly fluttering his lashes. 

_Seriously?_

“John’s still a bit shy. In public at any rate. But this is the place to let it go, love.”

_This had been a terrible idea. The worst._

_Deep breath._ He was okay. This was okay. _Foracaseforacaseforacase._

_Fuck._

Sherlock had kissed his neck, was hanging all over him. John knew it was affecting him, but what about Sherlock? _That was always the question, wasn’t it?_ Never had figured that out. Was he attracted to anyone, least of all John? 

It seemed like it tonight. Of course, he’d seen Sherlock cry on command, so what could you tell on a case?

This _really_ wasn’t the time.

It was fun to watch, though. It was always entertaining to see what character Sherlock assumed as necessary. Here he was gregarious, charming. He was practically _shining_. 

And Matt and George responded delightedly, chatting away. When John tuned back in from his silent reverie, he realized they were asking them over for dinner. He hesitated, but Sherlock chimed in, “How could we say no?” with a gentle touch on George’s arm.

_Really?_

_Bloody hell._

How could they say no? _No._ There it would have been, plain and simple. The case would be solved by next Tuesday. Hell, it would probably be solved tonight.  
\---

John squeaked, actually squeaked. Who the hell had pinched his arse? He looked behind him and got a wink from a statuesque drag queen, who pushed through the crowd and mounted the main stage. 

John Barrowman entered from the other side of the stage with a contingent of naval officers and launched into a crowd-pleasing, rendition of ‘Every Girl Loves A Sailor’. 

By the last chorus, everyone around them was joining in, many, drunkenly slurring ‘All the nice girls love a sailor, all the nice girls love a tar. For there's something about a sailor, (Well you know what sailors are!)’

The song ended and Sherlock led the way into a local pub. George ordered the first round and they settled into a booth.

“I prefer a soldier to a sailor, personally,” Sherlock practically purred, with a wink at Matt. He chuckled and they clinked pints. 

“I know just what you mean,” Matt said, pulling George into a deep kiss.

John cleared his throat lightly, turning to scan the room. In an unusual turn of events, it was actually quieter in this pub. Even as crowded as it was, it seemed a relief after the street festival. He had never seen Trafalgar square so packed! 

When the love birds broke apart, George traded phones with John to exchange contact information while Matt and Sherlock had gotten into a lively discussion about, of all things, vintnery. Apparently Sherlock knew a great deal about wine making. Amazing how you were always learning new things about your partner, John thought with the smallest stab of jealousy. 

Sherlock scanned the crowd, too. “Our round” he chirped, finishing his pint. “Johnny, help me carry?”

“Be right back!” John slid out of the booth and hurried to join Sherlock. 

“Really? Johnny?” he hissed, halting beside Sherlock at the bar.

“Just trying it out,” Sherlock said with a shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.  
“Well, don’t! What exactly are we doing here, anyway?”

Sherlock ordered, then answered, “Catching up with your army buddy, I believe. And watching Sven try to work over his next mark. Obviously. He’s over by the window.”

At that moment, Sven looked up, catching John’s gaze. For a moment he was sure they would be exposed and their target would run. He had to do something! John turned slightly and grabbed Sherlock, pulling him down into a kiss.

Sherlock stiffened, clearly surprised, but softened into it. They were supposed to be boyfriends, after all. By the time they broke apart, Sven had gone back to fawning over the tanned blond across his table, no longer paying any attention to the detective and his blogger at all.

“John?”

“Sven was about to notice you. And I…”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes well, quick thinking. Not entirely an idiotic thing to do. We should get back with the drinks.”

\---  
John’s pupils were definitely dilated. Cheeks slightly flushed. The kiss was longer than strictly necessary, but it’s uncertain that he would know to calculate that. Still, he could have done something else. Act drunk, fumble one of the pints, get in a bar fight. Any would have done to make it seem like they weren’t there to watch Sven. 

And yet this was his choice. Very interesting indeed. 

Sherlock was even more pleased he had chosen to take the case. This data was far more valuable than anything Sven hoped to get from his next target, as far as Sherlock was concerned.  
\---

They returned to the table. 

“So what is it you do?” George asked, taking the proffered glass as John and then Sherlock slid into the booth.

Before either could answer, Sherlock muttered, “Damn it, he’s leaving,” and leapt from the table. 

“This, apparently. This is what we do.”

“Come on, John,” Sherlock shouted over his shoulder.

“It’s for a case, we’ll explain Tuesday,” John said, as he followed. Apologising, trying to make up for their rushed exit. Had Sherlock merely said all that or did he intend for them to actually go? Well, John had just promised that himself at any rate. Time would tell and he’d think of something if Sherlock wasn’t interested in keeping up the pretense by then. Maybe he’d at least grab a pint with George and Matt again. Catch up a bit more.

He cursed himself on the way out the door. 

_Tuesday.  
‘We’ll explain Tuesday’?_

Maybe someone could explain all this to _him, _on Tuesday. _What the actual hell!_ __

__With a shake of his head, he ran after Sherlock, thanking the universe that Sherlock was so bloody tall he could be seen easily, even in this crowd.  
\---_ _

__Only two days ago they had sat in 221 B, Sherlock rolling his eyes, while John listened attentively to their guest._ _

__Passing over a snapshot, their wouldbe client sniffled and he pulled out a crumpled handkerchief. “He stole my credit cards, over $1,000… And my heart.”_ _

__Their client hadn’t stopped crying since he got there. Well, potential client._ _

__John knew they could use the money, so while Sherlock scoffed, “Boring,”John did everything he could to assure the victim that they weren’t in fact heartless bastards._ _

__Of course Sherlock, as usual, cared more about whether it was a 6 or higher and unfortunately robbery was not usually his favorite..._ _

__John passed over the picture._ _

__“Hang on,” the detective murmured, looking more closely at the picture. “That’s _not_ boring. Not at all... I’ll take it.” _ _

__As he thought about the details, where the client had been picked up, what month it was now, the opportunity of it clicked into place. They would have to go to the Pride Festival if they took this case. He wondered what John would be like there. Almost enough to take the case on that basis alone, but then the picture. Oh, this was definitely going to be worth it!_ _

__\---  
“I’d hate to disappoint George,” John said out of the blue over breakfast on Monday._ _

__“Hmmm?” Sherlock said, not looking up from the paper, though even John could tell he had stopped reading it._ _

__”And Matt was nice. They seem so happy together.” John took a bite of his toast and sip of his tea before continuing decisively, “We should go. On Tuesday.”_ _

__“The case is over,” Sherlock said noncommittally. Somehow it didn’t quite sound like a negation, more like leaving John a way out._ _

__“Sure, but I wouldn’t want them to feel bad. Like we were blowing them off. Of course telling them it was pretend might not go over well either. We should just go.”_ _

__John expected some kind of protest, something to indicate the colossal waste of time this would be. But Sherlock merely shrugged, mildly adding, “If you’d like.”_ _

__“Now, Sherlock we can’t…” John started to counter. He had been expecting Sherlock to think it was ridiculous to extend the charade, but stopped as Sherlock’s words caught up to him. He wasn’t quite sure what to make or the lack of protest. “Really?“ he finished lamely._ _

__“You know how I loathe repeating myself, but if you’d like to go, we should. They weren’t tedious, we don’t have a case on, and it’s no real trouble.” He glanced down at the plate of toast he had ignored for an hour already, then looked up with a smirk, adding, ”I might even eat.”_ _

__And what could John say to that? Excitement warred with fear in his chest and he was never quite able to settle his nerves after that._ _

__The following evening, he let Sherlock pick their outfits as he had the night of the case. This time, he chose items from their own closets. Sherlock in purple shirt and charcoal grey trousers and for John, a blue and white plaid button up and black trousers. Sherlock’s only last minute addition was to spike John’s hair with a bit of gel. Not his usual style, but he had to admit, it looked good._ _

__They arrived promptly at the address George had typed into John’s mobile. Sherlock had chosen a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. He swore it was delicious and that Matt in particular would appreciate it. John thought at that price it ought to be gold plated, but, as it wasn’t his money, couldn’t protest much._ _

__Their flat was cozy. Homey. John wasn’t quite sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. It could have been anyone’s flat. Which he should have known, really. Somehow meeting at Pride with Matt in chaps had John’s brain looking for something more flamboyant. Outrageous. Perhaps not ceiling mounted harnesses and rainbow wallpaper, but... something? The flat really could have been theirs. Similar eclectic bookshelves, photos from George’s time in the service, and John smiled at the used plate and tumbler on the side table. _Yep, pretty much like home._ _ _

__\---  
Matt offered them each a glass of wine and gestured for the to be seated in the livingroom. John downed half of his as soon as they sat down, his hand clenching. Nervous? _ _

__Well, he was the one who had wanted to come._ _

__“So,” George opened after a bit of small talk. “What had you boys in such a rush the other night?_ _

__“A case,” Sherlock began._ _

__“A case?” they repeated in comical unison._ _

__“Sherlock’s a detective,” John clarified. “Well, consulting detective. He works with the police.”_ _

__“Oh, Wait! I think I have read about you. You looked so different that night I didn’t even recognise you.”_ _

__“Yes, well, we are occasionally in the papers,” Sherlock acknowledged._ _

__“But the paparazzi never do him justice,” John interjected, glancing over at him. There was unmistakable heat in that gaze. Was John Watson honestly, consciously flirting?_ _

__“That con artist they caught the other night, was that it?”_ _

__“Sven Torlesson, yes. He had been seducing rich men and robbing them blind. Old, young, didn’t really seem to matter as long as he could turn a profit. In the past six months, he has been a personal trainer, an orderly at a retirement community, a modelling agent and an art dealer.”_ _

__“In the media, Sherlock likes to pretend he has no feelings at all. Truth be told, he has a soft spot for the victims of crimes where people are being preyed on.”_ _

__“Yes, well,” Sherlock cleared his throat and continued, “It is inexcusable to take advantage of their vulnerabilities. Vain, foolish, or stubborn, these men were also lonely and in several cases closeted. People think that since we have pride parades and are no longer being thrown in jail...” he paused, his jaw clenching. His tone had completely changed. He knew he had dropped all pretense of acting._ _

__“At least not here. Let’s just say that the battle isn’t over, not everyone is ready to accept who they are.” He paused, looking into John’s eyes, “and to use that against someone is monstrous. We were glad to help Torlesson find his way behind bars.”_ _

__“That’s amazing,” George said genuinely impressed._ _

__“Thank you. The Work is very satisfying.”_ _

__“My genius gets to show off and bad people get put away. It really is just about perfect.” John took a sip of his wine._ _

__“Of course sometimes a bit of acting is involved...” Sherlock began, figuring it would come up at some point tonight and now was as good a time as any would, but John cut him off._ _

__“Oh yes,” John began, taking Sherlock’s hand. “Remember that time you had to seduce that serial adulteress?” John laughed._ _

__Sherlock stared down at their linked hands and back up at John._ _

__Sherlock responded somehow and they were all laughing and chatting, but he was hardly aware of it, caught up in the fact that John didn’t want to tell them, had cut him off when he tried. Definitely new data. He pressed his thumb over John’s wrist. Pulse slightly elevated, cheeks flushed. Drawing his thumb in small circles, Sherlock watched John react. Definitely a good sign._ _

__Sherlock took a sip of wine and endeavored to keep his mind occupied with their hosts and the light conversation, but kept returning to John, always John. He was suddenly aware of how little they socialized. How easy this felt. Could they really do this? Ordinary things like dates and couples dinners? Boring, ordinary things? It didn’t feel boring with John._ _

__True to his word, Sherlock ate and ate well, chicken marsala, wild rice, and asparagus with balsamic reduction glaze._ _

__John couldn’t help teasing a bit. “Seriously, I should get your recipes. He never eats like this at home. What was that about the body being mere transport?”_ _

__“An indulgence now and again means nothing.”_ _

__“Well, I hope you have room for a bit more indulgence,” George said, disappearing into the kitchen. He reemerged carrying a gorgeous tiramisu._ _

__“Oh, how could you!” Sherlock declared with a playfully reproachful look at their hosts._ _

__“Well, if you don’t want any…” Matt said, serving John first._ _

__He took a bite and sighed with dramatic pleasure. “Sherlock you must,” he said, holding out a forkful._ _

__Sherlock raised a brow. “Oh must I?” Running his tongue over his lips, he opened his mouth._ _

__“Oh,” he moaned, “Absolute heaven.”_ _

__Matt laughed and George served Sherlock his own, which despite his earlier protests, he devoured with obvious relish._ _

__It was at least an hour later, after port and conversation which flowed as well as the wine, that John and Sherlock finally made they goodbyes.  
\---_ _

__At home that night, John hung up his jacket and toed off his shoes. “I really had a lovely time,” he said, his tone imparting a distinct weight to the simple declaration._ _

__“So did I.”_ _

__Heart hammering in his chest, John reached up and cupped Sherlock’s jaw. It was slower than in the pub. Plenty of time for Sherlock to stop him, pull away, to do anything to break this moment. But he didn’t. Sherlock’s lips met his, warm and full, and tasting of wine._ _

__“We didn’t tell them.”_ _

__“No, we didn’t,” John said steadily holding Sherlock’s gaze._ _

__“I tried...”_ _

__John brought his finger up, placing it gently over Sherlock’s lips, “And I’ve been thinking a lot. About you and me. About this case and... our lives. And,” John paused. “And I was wondering if you knew.”_ _

__He dropped his hand to Sherlock’s chest._ _

__“Knew what, exactly?” Sherlock sounded wary, but John had just kissed him, without pretense or audience, which surely counted for something._ _

__“Knew that things would work out this way. Knew that if we had to pretend, I’d…”_ _

__“Have feelings?” Sherlock suggested, his voice sounding damningly hopeful to his own ears._ _

__“Realize that I am in love with you.”_ _

__Sherlock’s eyes widened. “You…”_ _

__“I’m in love with you. Yes, Sherlock.” John smiled._ _

__Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I thought maybe you… I wanted…” He quit stammering and paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, “I wanted to see how you’d react, given the right circumstances, but I didn’t want things awkward between us. I’ve wanted you for a long time, but didn’t want to ruin what we...”_ _

__“And you thought what exactly?” John quirked a brow at him, “I could ask my flatmate if he’d like to snog or possibly have a lovely fulfilling relationship, but that seems terribly frightening. Instead, let’s have a pretend relationship ‘for a case,’ because that will clearly be easier and less emotionally taxing.”_ _

__“Yep,” he said, eyes glittering with mischief, letting the final consonant pop for emphasis._ _

__John let out a great bark of a laugh, resonant, ringing in the flat. “Oh you great git.” He pulled Sherlock close, “I’m glad you did.”_ _

__“So, we are _actually_ doing this, then.”_ _

__“It would seem so.”_ _


End file.
